


When It Alteration Finds

by agent85



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, what else do you expect
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-08
Updated: 2016-03-08
Packaged: 2018-05-25 12:35:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,200
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6195337
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/agent85/pseuds/agent85
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Elena Rodriguez, SHIELD's newest Inhuman recruit, is less than thrilled with her powers and everything that comes with it. But when Fitz learns the reason behind her dismay, he risks everything to help her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	When It Alteration Finds

**Author's Note:**

> I've been bouncing this story around in my head since December, so this Slingshot will likely bear no resemblance to the one in the show. Any spoilers are completely coincidental. :) 
> 
> Again, I'd like to thank my beta, [Ruthedotcom](http://archiveofourown.org/users/ruthedotcom/pseuds/ruthedotcom) for lending me her logical insight and general awesomeness.

Jemma rubs her eyes and indulges herself by leaning against the wall. It's good that Daisy and Mack have been on overdrive searching for Inhumans, but processing them has become a burden. The exhaustion has crept into her bones and, not for the first time, she wishes they could just stuff all this weirdness back in Pandora's box and lock it tight, But instead, she retrieves the bandages she came for.

Maybe, after this one, she'll sleep.

She pads down the hallway, mindful of the noise she's making at this hour. Sound seems to travel further at night, and she knows that it's just that there are fewer sound waves to get in the way, but there does seem to be a kind of magic about it. It's not that hard to understand why there are so many folk legends that involve the early hours of the morning. Even Fitz's voice seems to have an enchantment of its own as it bounces down the corridors.

But as she gets closer, she hears the distress in his tone. It's when she hears sobbing that she stops cold.

"Hey," says Fitz, and Jemma's oddly relieved that he's not the one crying, "I'm sure . . . I'm sure he'll understand. He should if he's good for anything."

"You have no idea how I feel," snaps the other voice, and Jemma knows that it belongs to Elena, the new Inhuman. "You don't know how it feels to have somebody love you back."

"No," she hears Fitz say, and he clears his throat. "No, but um, you . . . I mean I almost did. Once. And I . . . I don't think . . ."

She can't hear the rest of it, because blood is now thundering in her head, and she feels so weak that leaning against the wall is more necessity than indulgence.

_No?_

_Almost?_

She has to remind herself to breathe, and when she takes in a shaky breath, she nearly chokes on it.

He has no idea, she realizes. No idea at all.

And she might as well be back on the surface of the ocean, or at his bedside, or watching him go off to war. That feeling has returned, like her belly is full of rocks.

_Once?_

And she remembers the look in his eyes when he left, and when he came back to her, and she knows.

He thinks she doesn't love him.

He thinks she _never_ loved him.

And somehow, it's like losing him all over again.

* * *

"She's got a boyfriend back home," he says, and she knows he's avoiding her eyes. She helps him clean things up for the night. "They were gonna get engaged. She's worried that . . ."

She waits for him to finish, then realizes that they've seen this a hundred times by now, so maybe he doesn't have to.

"And what did you tell her?"

Now she's glad that he's not looking at her, because if her voice didn't betray that she already knows the answer, she's sure her face will. She's too tired and too raw to fool anyone, much less him.

Fitz pinches the bridge of his nose. "I told her not to give up hope."

"Do you really think he'll understand?"

She's stepping into dangerous territory, but she also can't help herself. 

Fitz takes in a breath and lets it out a sigh. "No way to tell, really. I don't know the guy. But if he loves her as much as she seems to love him, then he should try, at least. 'Love is not love which alters when it alteration finds,' and all that."

She tries to suppress a chuckle and fails, drawing his gaze.

"What?"

"Nothing!" She puts up her hands in surrender, and she didn't realize just how much she needed this laugh. "I just . . . I've never heard you quote Shakespeare before."

He rolls his eyes at her. "It's never come up before."

All the humor drains out of her as the meaning behind his words ring through her head. They don't talk about love, though they shouted about it once. No wonder he doesn't understand.

"Fitz, I . . ." She hopes the words will come, but they don't. In the end, she can only say, "I'm sorry."

He rubs his temple with one hand. "Don't be sorry, Jemma. I didn't mean—"

"I am sorry, though."

His eyes catch hers and, not for the first time, she wishes that he could read her mind, like everyone says. Like everyone _used_ to say. Fitz cocks his head at her.

"Sorry for what?"

She can't look at him, so she closes her eyes. "Sorry that we never . . ." She's sorry that there are a thousand things they've never said or done, and maybe if she'd paid more attention, if his feelings hadn't surprised her, if she hadn't gotten thrown to the other end of the accursed universe, maybe they would have done them all by now. Somehow, it makes her more angry than sad. She looks up and realizes that, at some point, she closed the distance between them.

"I'm obviously sorry that it never came up."

Fitz shakes his head.

"I told you, Jemma, the cosmos—"

"And I told you that the cosmos doesn't want anything, Fitz!"

The anger has bubbled up in her chest, and it's about to burst into a scream, but when the words come to the back of her throat, they're _But_ I _do_.

_The cosmos doesn't want anything, but_ I  _do._

It comes out of nowhere, and she takes a jagged breath to try and calm herself down, but he's breathing heavily, too. She becomes mesmerized by the heaving of his chest, and she remembers that her hands were once right there, and somehow she can taste the part of him that he left on her lips.

And it all comes crashing down on her—the Hub, Hydra, the planet—this is what Fitz means when he says they're destined to be apart, but then, he doesn't know the scathing ache of being without himself.

She knows it all too well.

"Four days," she says, and Fitz is taken aback.

"What?"

"Four days, Fitz. Before we stepped foot on the Bus, that was the longest we'd ever been apart from each other. It was when we went home for that first Christmas, remember?"

Fitz combs his hands through his hair. "I remember being absolutely miserable."

She's about to tell him that she was miserable, too, but he catches her eye and reminds her that he knows. Does he still remember how tightly she hugged him when they saw each other at the terminal?

"Odd, isn't it?"

Her eyes have drifted away from him in thought, but when they find him again, he's giving her a lopsided smile.

"Excuse me?"

Fitz huffs out something like a laugh and examines his shoes. "I'd known you what, four months by then? Been friends with you for a little more than one? But I went home and felt lonely without you. Like . . ." He smiles and wipes away a tear. "Like a part of me was missing somehow."

"I felt the same way."

His head snaps up as his eyes lock on hers, and her heart races because it's about to happen again, he's going to kiss her, and make the world right. But he bites his lip and sighs.

"It must have . . . must have been the same. With, uh, with him. You didn't get on at first, and then . . . Jemma?"

She's shaking her head, and this roller coaster of emotions is too much for any human to handle, but it's not until she hears the concern in his voice that she realizes she's crying.

"Fitz, it's . . ."

"What?"

She doesn't believe in demons, but she can feel something with claws tear her apart from the inside. She can't bear this.

"Nothing that happened with Will is anything like what happened with you."

She spits it out like the words are hot needles, and she's flooded with relief that she's finally said it when she sees his wet eyes and everything breaks again.

 He wipes his tears away and nods.

"Yeah, of course. I didn't mean . . ."

"Fitz."

"Yeah, he was there when you needed him, and I . . ."

"Fitz!"

He takes in a jagged breath. "I wasn't."

And that's when Jemma feels like she's at the end of her rope, that words have failed her and they always will.

That's when she kisses him.

She goes in slow, like before, catching his eyes so he'll know she means it. His lips are soft, and she loses herself in them, in the way he holds her close, in the way his stubble feels under her fingertips. He breaks the kiss and she leans in for another, then another and another, letting it simmer, hoping it will boil over. He is putty in her hands, and maybe she can bend his heart until it's whole again. 

He breaks the kiss again and steps back this time, out of her range. She steps towards him, but he puts a hand out to stop her. 

"Jemma please," he begs, and she sees fresh tears rolling down his cheeks. "You can't . . . you can't kiss me because you miss him."

And that's all she needs to fall apart. She reaches out for him, but it's like swimming through molasses. He's already gone.

"It was the other way 'round," she whispers, feeling the truth of it once she hears herself say it, wishing she were brave enough to say it to his face. "It was the other way 'round."

* * *

"The answer is no."

"But sir!"

"I know you're just trying to help, but we can't let her go back there. It's too dangerous."

Jemma's pressed against the wall, hidden around the corner, and she hopes Coulson and Fitz won't notice her when they pass by.

They don't.

"If she can learn to control her powers, maybe." He adjusts what must be the latest hand Fitz made him. "But we can't risk anyone knowing about her abilities. She'll have to keep that quiet."

"But him not knowing about her powers is the problem!"

"Then she'll have to get over it."

Fitz stops in his tracks, and Jemma ducks into a doorway so they won't see her.

"Get over it?" Fitz puts his hands in his hips. "What, like you got over Rosalind?"

Coulson narrows his gaze. "No. Like I got over Audrey. Remember her? Brown hair, plays the cello? Still breathing?"

Fitz is actually taken back by this, and even from her angle, she can tell that Fitz is gaping.

"We all make sacrifices for the ones we love, Fitz. If Elena really cares about this guy, she'll do what it takes to keep him safe."

Fitz is still dumbfounded when Coulson shakes his head and walks away. 

* * *

Jemma spends half of the morning picking the perfect words to say when she ends up with, "Why are you so intent to change Coulson's mind?"

She's pleased with her delivery, as she's mixed just the right intonations to come off as passively inquisitive.

His brows are furrowed when he looks back at her. He still has the weight of the world in his shoulders.

"I don't know. Jemma. I just want one of us to be happy, I guess."

She wants to ask him why he can't be happy, why _they_ can't be happy, but she holds her tongue, and then he's gone.

* * *

"Okay," orders Mack, "we've got twenty-eight minutes to retrieve whatever research we can find. Is everyone clear on their objectives?"

In the corner of her eye, Jemma sees Fitz nod at the same time she does. She looks to the other side of her and puts a hand over Elena's. She's shaking like a leaf.

"Fitz and I will identify which servers are holding the data, and Elena will extract the appropriate data disks from each server."

Fitz and Elena share a glance, and Jemma can only imagine how much practice it must have taken for Elena to be ready for this. Can she dismantle a server at super speed, or does she have to do it between strides?

"And we'll make sure no one shoots at you," assures Hunter. When he winks at her, she smiles back.

She's buzzing with adrenaline, but somehow, the nerves feel nice. It's her first mission since she came back to this planet, and she didn't even have to beg for it.

She wonders if Fitz begged for her.

The quinjet lands, and the time for thinking is over. Jemma acts instead, running towards the building, keeping low, pointing her ICER towards the ground. It's second nature, like riding a bicycle, and it feels good. All that training and struggling on two planets is finally paying off. She keeps an eye on Elena, ready to direct her if necessary, but Jemma's pleased to find that she doesn't have to. At first she thinks that Elena must be a natural at this before she remembers how much training she's gone through. Still, her focus is remarkable.

They find a computer terminal in no time, and Daisy is in her ear telling her how to get in while Fitz tries to get heat signatures from the server room. She lets him take over at her station, then hacks into second terminal. They're both on the same network, and soon Jemma has a window to what Fitz is seeing, and vice versa. She's pulling up the research, sorting through projects to find the one they came for. When she finds the right files, Fitz tells Elena which server is storing them, and off Elena goes, speeding through corridors and back again. A greedy part of her wishes they could take  _all_ the data—she's sure she could work wonders with it—but this is a non-profit lab, and stealing what they came for is bad enough. Besides, they'd never have enough time to get everything out.

It's like Elena was born to do this, and maybe she was. She nods when Fitz gives her an order, then she's off like a bullet. Jemma can only imagine what it must feel like to run that fast—is it like everyone else is frozen in time? Fitz just holds out his hands and disks appear in them.

Jemma is about eighty-five percent certain that they've got the last of the data when there's seven minutes left on the clock. Now, Elena will run the pilfered disks to the quinjet while Jemma and Fitz remove any evidence that might incriminate them. Everything goes well until Elena leaves at normal speed and doesn't come back. 

Jemma looks at Fitz, who simply shrugs and heads towards the exit. This wasn't part of the plan—why is he acting like this is part of the plan? But they're running out of time, so Jemma follows him out. 

Elena was supposed to carry them out, but they can get to the quinjet in time if they hurry. Half of Jemma's brain is trying to not fall on her face while the other is trying to determine where Elena ran off to. Is she safe? Maybe she's back on the quinjet, out of gas. But when they turn a corner, Jemma hears a distinct cry coming from somewhere behind her.

"Javi!"

It's Elena, Jemma knows it in her bones, but when she turns back, Fitz stops her with a look. Jemma's jaw drops.

"You knew."

This is Daisy all over again, and maybe they should never have let Fitz be around Inhumans in the first place. Maybe he's always going to do this. 

"Just keep moving, Jemma," Fitz pants. "No one's going to hurt her."

"How," Jemma gasps, "could you possibly know that?"

The rage comes back, but he's right, they have to get back to the quinjet. She lets her anger fuel each step, and she finds herself going faster and faster. When they are finally safe and sound, she turns back to Fitz.

"What on Earth do you think you're doing? You could have killed her!"

"He won't hurt her, Jemma."

And that's when the realization starts flooding in, how it was Fitz who told the team about this research in the first place, and how he had insisted that they come at this specific time. Sirens are blaring in the background and getting closer, and she almost wants to shove him out of the jet and have him take his chances like Elena is.

But before she can say another word, a blur of motion deposits a man in the seats next to them. Fitz puts his hand on the man's shoulder.

"I'm Agent Fitz," he assures the man, "I work with Elena. You're safe here."

When Elena appears and the quinjet takes off, the man (who must be Javi) sits down in a stupor.

"I was safe before," he says.

* * *

One thing that Jemma has learned is that Coulson's new hand is at least twice as effective as pounding on a desk.

"You went against a direct order. What made you think that was okay?"

Jemma watches Fitz from the corner of her eye, both relieved and worried that Coulson seems to have forgotten she's in the room.

"He could be an asset, sir," says Fitz. Coulson folds his arms and glares.

"He's an accountant, Fitz. What use do you think we have for him?"

Fitz shrugs. "It's tax season?"

"Okay," Coulson deadpans, "aside from the fact that we are an organization that technically doesn't exist, and therefore doesn't pay taxes, I'm pretty sure that he's not that kind of accountant."

Fitz seems to consider this. "Isn't that . . . better?"

" _Fitz_."

"Okay, okay." She hears him suck in a breath. "Javier's company was trying to find a way to _cure_ Inhumans. People like Daisy and Lincoln. They think something's wrong with them."

This time, Jemma remembers to bite her tongue. 

"Elena was devastated, of course. And she— _we_ thought that if he saw the good that could be done—"

"That's not your call to make, Fitz. You risked everyone's lives today. You risked _Jemma's_ life."

Coulson points a finger at her without looking, and she can count the times he's used her first name on one hand. This time, though, he's not saying it out of affection. When Fitz's brows knit together, she knows Coulson has hit his target.

"It was a non-profit research facility. All their security was electronic. None of us were in any danger."

"From the lab, maybe," counters Coulson, "but Hydra might want their hands on that research, too. What if they'd shown up, and it went south? Would you be so pleased with yourself then?"

Fitz raises an eyebrow. "I'm not _pleased_ with—"

"And I assume he kept you out of this too, Simmons?"

Simmons looks to Fitz, then nods. "I'm as shocked as you are, sir."

"Well," says Coulson, "I wish I was shocked, but this has happened before." He turns to Fitz. "I think it's time you spent a few days away from the lab to consider the consequences of your actions."

That's when Fitz gulps, but Jemma gasps, and suddenly she's standing up.

"Sir, I know what he did was wrong, but—"

"It's not up for discussion, Simmons."

Fitz doesn't waver, even when the tears come. Jemma watches him so intently that she's not quite sure when her hand finds his. He looks down at their hands and nods.

"Somebody should be happy." 

And those are the last words he says until he turns to leave, and his fingers slide out of her grasp as he walks away.

* * *

Jemma finds herself in the kitchen making a sandwich that could be described as Fitz's second favorite—salami, provolone, and banana peppers. It's the best she can do under the circumstances.

Hunter stalks into the room in the search for beer, and takes two out of the fridge. He opens one as he leans against the counter and sips it.

"I can bring it to him, if you like," he offers, nodding at the sandwich. "I figure our resident boyfriend finder could use a drink."

Jemma levels a glare at him, and he raises both hands in surrender. 

"I don't mean anything by it," he says, "just trying to remind you of what's on Fitz's brain right about now." He takes another swig.

"How would you know?"

"I've been in love before. With someone who had . . ." He examines the beer label. "Other interests. I'd bet my life that he's never _not_ thinking about it. And believe me, I have done my best to distract him, but I think alcohol is the only thing that will dull the pain right now."

Jemma tightens her shoulders and grips the butter knife like it's a weapon.

"Take it," she says, and when he does, she adds, "I never meant to hurt him."

Hunter just looks at her for a moment before he says, "There isn't a soul on this base that thinks you did."

* * *

"Fitz?"

"Go away, Jemma."

She opens his bedroom door anyway and predicts the scowl on his face with one hundred percent accuracy. Behind him, she sees a tray with a perfectly good sandwich that has gone uneaten.

"I'm fine. You don't have to worry about me."

Jemma takes a step towards him. "I'm always worried about you."

He chuckles at that, with such grief that it pierces her.

"I know you'd try and stop me, if I told you. You'd never believe that I could do it,"

She shakes her head, and a tear breaks free to fall down her cheek. "Fitz, that's not why I worry."

He folds his arms and sniffs. "Why, then?"

She's been thinking about the answer to this question since the moment she overheard Fitz's "almost." She has to seize this moment, or she might never have another one. 

"You forget," she says locking her eyes with his so he will not mistake her meaning, "I loved you first. That's why I've always worried."

Her four-letter word is a match in an oil field, and she watches his eyes catch flame. 

"You . . . you didn't . . ." He takes a breath. "You didn't . . ."

"I've always cared about you, Fitz. I don't know if I worry about you as much as I worry about being without you.

"But you _were_ without me," he points out. "And you were perfectly fine, once you sorted it out."

"Oh, Fitz," she says, taking a step towards him and a shaking breath. "There was no 'perfect.' There was no 'fine.' There was only the lie that what we had was good enough. We had to make ourselves believe it, or there'd be no point, you see?"

He doesn't see, and he wasn't there, and even if he was, she's not sure he'd get it. She wasn't sure Will would get it, if he'd made it back here.

"Kissing you is the only honest thing I've done in a long time," she finally says. "And maybe I've hurt you too much for you to trust me, but it's true. When I'm with you, I get to be all of myself at once, and when I'm kissing you, I'm more. It's never been like that with anyone else. I don't think it could be."

He stares at her, dumbfounded, and of all things, that makes her smile as the tears fall.

"Fitz, why is Elena the only one that can be happy? Why not us?"

He blinks, then takes a step back, and she's afraid that she's made it worse again.

"You're wrong," he finally says.

"Excuse me?"

He folds his arms and looks away. "I'm pretty sure I loved you before I even met you. I kept hearing about this English girl that could actually be my match. I dreamed that she would be."

Jemma takes a gulp of air. "You don't have to worry about that, Fitz."

It comes out like a whisper, but then her eyes meet his, and she dares to cross the room and tuck herself into his arms. 

"We can be happy, Fitz." She whispers it against the thrumming of his heart. "We always were."

"I don't know," he sighs. "Things keep changing."

"I think Shakespeare would have a thing or two to say about that." She hugs him tighter. "I'm still me, Fitz. And you're still you, and that means that we're still us."

His chest heaves against her, and she feels him nod.

"Okay."

"Okay," she agrees.

It's a small step and a large one, and Jemma clings to him as long as he'll let her, which ends up being a very long time. This is what he needs, and what she needs, so she decides to save her kisses for another time, a time when he will know beyond a shadow of the doubt that they are only for him.

For now, though, she knows that he knows, or that he is at least starting to figure it out. He won't have to live his life through others because his life is with her.

And it's only a start, really, but it'll do for now,

After all, she thinks, as long as she has Fitz, she has more than enough. 

**Author's Note:**

> The Shakeaspeare quote (and the title) comes from Sonnet 116.
> 
> I regularly post sneak peeks and general ramblings about my writing on [my tumblr](http://agent-85.tumblr.com/tagged/Writings%20of%20Agent%2085).


End file.
